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The End

The End

2 mins 367 2 mins 367

It's the end of the world,

And I'm glad it's here

As my rocky sentiments churn

In a greyish whirlpool.


Their audacity unmatched by any force.

A silence blaring across the globe.

A world that isn't round, rather residing

Within me, collapsing on it's own.


Wait? Is that you at the eye?

My abode revolving around the hatred

That you so gracefully show and dye

Your sclera with a sadistic red.


A red that reflects my blood

On your hands as your pupils no more dilate

When you steal glances at me. Their inability

Quietly calling out to a priest to say my final prayer.


And as my lips embrace their destiny,

My hands come together in a way we never did,

While I bow before the merciless Samaritan.

And she bestows me with sweet eternal agony.


And I feel the whirlpool finally slow down,

Its waves no more crashing against my conscience.

My world culminating in an aura unmatched

By anything or anyone. Simply at peace.


The peace I sought in a pack of cancerous monstrosities,

That sinfully locked lips with mine,

Bringing me closer to my diety.

My white and grey prayers hopefully arriving at her doorstep.


Their insolence weighing down on my sentiments,

Slowly and steadily fracturing my existence,

Forcing me to contemplate on why the apocalypse stopped mid way, when I had intentionally sinned

To be punished. The rock within, waiting to be sand once more, but no more,


Because these cracks shall now widen and give way

To a new life waiting to spring in the aftermath.

But the apocalypse is abandoned, just like

A hopeless ray of dark light, illuminating the surface of my crimsom ocean.


An ocean where all life is suffocating

For that one last breathe you're holding between your fingers.

And I watch the end of the end,

As it stops midway, while I destroy myself by myself.


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More english poem from Raghav Bansal

The End

The End


2 mins read

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